


lycoris

by frostmantle



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, emet is still a sad boi tho, how one minor change can make things go very differently, there's a hyth/hades/14th sammich here if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23937985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmantle/pseuds/frostmantle
Summary: Emet-Selch must have thought highly of this Hades. She cannot help but like him. (AU)
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28
Collections: May-U Fic Exchange 2020





	lycoris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosamynal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosamynal/gifts).



> please accept my humble offering dear friend OTL

Nestled within a seemingly fathomless expanse amidst the fringes of the western seas, the Tempest is not exactly what one would call a comforting locale. Its depths are rife with sailor's tales: stories of sirens and storms and ships called to their deaths, even in the days before the Flood brought deadlier creatures to Kholusia's shores. 

For a creature like Emet-Selch, a man relegated to furthering his god's work within the myriad hidden places of the Source and its reflections for long years, it will do. 

Of course, his choice of abode upon the First is not wholly based upon sentimentality. Sometimes he fancies he has all but forgotten what it is like for the touch of light not to sting his skin; he can bear it when he must but sees little point in deliberately exposing himself to discomfort. 

Amber eyes track the rippling ribbons of refracted light that shimmer several fulms overhead, fingers of stark white softened into a glow by the water like knives dulled from use. It is just enough that the seafloor wherein he has rebuilt his most abiding memory does not lie completely shrouded in the darkness of the trench. By its dim illumination does Emet-Selch study the skyline he has built with the critical lens of a master sculptor, seeking any perceived flaws and carefully setting any misgivings aside. For better or worse, the die is cast and his choices made. This final act of creation: completed. 

It wants now only for a single soul to darken its doorsteps.

~*~

She is glad to have parted ways with the others briefly, even for investigation's sake. 

Although not inclined to lie by nature, she is nonetheless quite aware that her condition has deteriorated farther than any of the other Scions are like to have realized. The corona of light that had flickered at the periphery of her vision has all but overtaken her sight. Blinding white and gold accompanies the pain in her stiffening limbs which has been a constant companion since awakening in the Crystarium.

She pushes herself to a sitting position, then with a supreme act of will regains her feet. Her stance wobbles- perilously close to overcorrecting- but with time and care she is able to keep her balance, and in short order, the Warrior of Darkness finds herself once more stumbling down the vast and near-empty paved streets of an alien city: a city populated only with a single man’s memories of the dead. It is a lonely, lonely path. But that loneliness carries, in itself, a sort of bleak comfort. 

Wandering up and down the paved streets of Amaurot’s neat, gridlike layout- or at least the bits that fit into the ocean trench with such suspicious seamlessness- she does not realize her feet have carried her off the beaten path until a bone-deep fatigue gives her cause to grip the cool metal of a fancifully wrought archway for support. 

There is, to her surprise, still beauty to be found in this place upon further inspection. The public park she has stumbled upon is a welcome sight and a well-appointed affair at that. Mazes of green painstakingly curated and compelled into obeisance, framing the abstraction of metal sculpture. Flowers of every conceivable color, tall and comfortable-looking trees planted for shade as well as aesthetic. 

For the first time since they had rounded the continental shelf and glimpsed the tall spires rising like bony fingers from the darkest depths of the ocean trench, the Warrior feels calm. Something about this place imparts a certain measure of serenity. There is a particular sort of love that has gone into its recreation, a love that is very nearly tangible.

And, somehow, also very familiar.

Fingers trailing through hawthorn and salvia- and a good dozen varieties of flowers her eyes have never seen, on the Source or elsewhere- she meanders in an aimless amble, plagued not only by the Light leaking into her vision but also the feeling that she is searching for something indefinable. 

The massive tree in the center of the park brings her to a halt. 

There is no other of its kind to be seen anywhere nearby. It stands aloof from the other greenery, silent and ancient and proud--its boughs bent, upon closer inspection, with the weight of many years--much like a certain Ascian of her acquaintance. The Warrior of Darkness finds herself drawn to it in a way that defies understanding. 

Gently she reaches for the tree and places one palm upon its enormous trunk. Caresses the roughness of its bark with her fingertips--

\-----Mortal agony warps its way through her bones and the sound of fracturing glass rings in her ears as the Light surges.

Biting back a cry of agony she convulses around it, crumpling to the ground, head in her twitching hands as the pain becomes her world. Amaurot fades, distant and unimportant, into her periphery, and upon her tongue, she tastes copper and ozone.

_No no no no, not here, not now, not like this--_

**_*I beg your pardon? That’s_** **my** **_tree.*_**

The resonant chime of the ancients’ tongue, edged with just the slightest hint of annoyance, pierces the cacophony of ravenous hunger and the spasms of her limbs so thoroughly that she… is distracted.

The pain fades and her vision, nearly white, is almost clear. 

The figure is as indistinct as all the others -- tall, translucent, almost intimidating -- but something about this one is different. The other shades she has encountered acknowledged her only in the broadest of senses, treating her more as an interruption to the tasks they were set, rather like watching worker mammets forced to move aside an obstacle. 

No, this shade seems more _present_ than the others somehow. She can feel something more substantial behind the black holes of the mask peering down at her- something, that is, beyond initial surprise and a sort of mild, rather tolerant annoyance. 

“It’s a very large tree,” she manages a weak smile and pats a bottom-sized dip in the root system at her side. “I think there should be plenty of room for both of us.”

The shade tilts its chin to one side, almost like a bird. She fancies she can feel the weight of a stare upon her, silently judging her appearance alongside her words-- but at length, it sits, albeit with abrupt movements that lack the artless grace she had observed among the other figures. 

For a long time, they do not speak but simply accept each other’s company with varying degrees of amiability. The Warrior looks out upon the streets beyond the hedges and watches the blurred outlines of the city's shades going about what she can only assume would have once been their daily business, although a keen eye would note that there is not much change in their behavior over time. They are in a perpetual loop of the same discussions, the same paths, the same tasks, over and over.

At length, she hears the soft chiming once more, the words unfolding within her mind in the same instant. Terribly polite of Emet-Selch, she thinks with a hysterical sort of good humor, to at least provide a means of translating his people’s speech.

 **_*So, you've come from out of time - apropos, all things considered. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,*_ ** the shade muses. **_*...Not in this form, at least.*_ **

The statement is as confusing as it is disarming.

“This… form?” she echoes, but her only answer is another question.

**_*You’ve come to see Emet-Selch, I take it?*_ **

She tenses. That is all the answer that seems to be necessary. 

**_*Ah.*_ ** With a noise that seems to translate as a laboring sigh, the shade’s cowled head comes to rest against the tree trunk. **_*Your timing is unfortunate. The city is deep in preparations to face the Doom. You’ll be lucky to see him before all is said and done.*_ **

“So I’ve heard.” There is no change in what she can see of the giant’s expression, but she can sense that it was the expected response. “...If I may ask, how did you know I was here to see Emet-Selch?”

 **_*Oh, come now, you needn’t worry about me,*_ ** the shade shrugs. **_*I’m not really here, you know. Well, I’m here but I’m not -_** **present,- _as it were_** ** _. Nor are any of these others._ * **

“Are you... I mean, you’re not a spirit, are you?”

 **_*Am I to assume you mean a wandering soul? Certainly not. We’re all just memories; naught of real substance, I’m afraid.*_ ** An amused titter as the shade stretches, catlike, before rolling its head towards her. **_*This is an Amaurot upon which the Doom has yet to descend- if it ever does.*_ **

She leans forward and wraps her arms about her knees, hugging them to her chest. The only person - so to speak - in the entire city that actually seems capable of a real conversation and she has no real idea what to ask.

Might as well start with the pleasantries. “What’s your name?”

The black sockets of the mask seem to bore through her flesh and straight into her soul, and although it should make no difference she feels strangely exposed. _*****_ ** _ **.**..Asking the important questions at last, are we? You can call me Hades. Don’t bother asking any of these others; they’d not be able to give an answer at all.*_ **

“None of the others can really talk about anything beyond superficial matters,” she agreed. “Though I’m curious as to what makes _you_ different. You certainly look the same as they do.”

 **_*Knowing Emet-Selch, he likely had me on the mind while he was creating this overwrought simulacrum of his.*_ ** One large hand lifts in a lazy, flippant, and startlingly familiar wave before tucking itself behind Hades’ head. **_*He always was tediously sentimental. Although I suppose I should be flattered.*_ **

“I’m not sure I follow.”

 **_*Doubtless he thought I would see through the illusion--my sight pales in comparison to his, mind you. But he would know that. We were good friends once, he and I.*_ ** A familiar, rueful half-smile tilts the shade's lips. **_*Although I am no less ephemeral than anything else he’s summoned from his memory. I assume he told you what happened?*_ **

“After a fashion, yes.” She plucks at a blade of grass. “He spoke of a calamity, and how the brightest of his number - yours, that is - came together to summon Zodiark.”

 ** _*Not the most_ accurate _summary, in truth, but I suppose it will suffice,*_** Hades sniffs. 

The Warrior listens, with all of the patience for which she is so famous upon the Source, as he speaks. The burning pain of the Light is almost nonexistent in this odd man's presence, and that alone is sweet comfort. 

Emet-Selch must have thought highly of this Hades. He is wholly unlike the kind and gentle giants seeming content to drift through empty streets, unaware of the fate that awaits them; he recounts the Ascian’s lecture with an air that could be generously termed sardonic: brusque and laden with quipped observations about how ‘tiresome’ the other man could be, yet in a way that makes obvious their long years of acquaintance. Affection lies just beneath his exasperation, and she finds herself warming to Hades quickly, sour as he seems.

He is blunt-tongued and eccentric, but still kind in his way. She cannot help but like him.

**_*Needless to say, there were those who didn’t take kindly to the suggestion that we ought to continue sacrificing souls to Zodiark’s appetites, and felt that we ought to make our peace with the new lives we’d created. They summoned Hydaelyn to counter Him. So for the first time in anyone’s memory, we were divided on our course of action---*_ **

“And you fought,” she says, sadly. Sorrow burns in her breast for this man and his fellows, a gentle people who had never known strife if Emet-Selch were to be believed. “He told me.”

 **_*Then you know how it ends.*_ ** Hades’ smile fades, and though she half-expects another testy remark, there is none forthcoming. The shade's head shakes slowly, side to side. **_*So he continues to labor in Zodiark’s name, then.*_ **

“Not for any lack of attempts to thwart him, I assure you.”

 **_*Don't apologize. I should hardly expect otherwise. He’s an obstinate ass,*_** Hades says flatly, **_*and that’s only one of his many flaws. Though I imagine it serves him well in this regard-- if none other.*_ **

Despite herself, she laughs.

“I would say it doesn’t even begin to describe him. You can’t imagine-- well, no, I guess you can if you knew him well. Although…”

**_*Although...?*_ **

She stares at her hands, only able to see a blinding white outline, and does not answer. She does not trust herself to answer.

_Sometimes I see a glimpse of a kinder, gentler man, beneath it all. And now- now I find myself mourning the loss of a person I never knew._

If he senses her hesitation, he gives no outward indication of it.

* ** _I’m sure he still intends to carry out his plan_** **.** * His eyes might be hidden in the depths of that mask, but she doesn’t need to see them. There is a certain degree of sorrow in his words, blunt as they are. * ** _Mind you, he can commit all manner of cruelties when it suits him to do so_ n** **ow** ** _, but he was very different once. Friendly. Compassionate. Very willing to admit his mistakes and seek counsel where warranted. He would take the burdens of other souls upon his own shoulders without a second thought if he felt his aid necessary. Occasionally I found him infuriating, but always he had the purest of intentions.*  
  
_** Each word falls upon her ears with a heavier weight. Hades sighs. ** _  
  
*This is a terrible burden he has chosen for himself, make no mistake- and it is all the worse for knowing his temperament is so ill-suited to carry it._** *

The quality of the filtered light through the water has changed - the color, the angle, albeit only slightly. It is one of the few ways anyone has in Norvrandt of tracking the time. Evening has fallen. 

As if realizing it himself, Hades seems to stir from a sort of reverie, as though their chat is a dream and she is the shade.

 **_*It’s starting to get very late, you know,*_ ** he says, rather briskly. **_*Shouldn’t you be off to get your permit? I’m certain he’s waiting on you.*_ **

“I… yes. Yes, of course.” 

Slowly and carefully the Warrior stands, bracing her weight against the tree. It is a nigh-herculean effort to regain her footing; she is desperate to lie down somewhere and try to sleep, but sleep despite her exhausted state has brought neither rest nor peace. The Light lurks just beneath her mortal shell, a predator waiting for its prey to falter. 

Time is shorter than she had hoped it would be. 

Still, she smiles. 

“Thank you for speaking with me, Hades.”

That impatient flip of a wave again, and now she is _quite_ certain she has seen Emet-Selch make that precise gesture a time or two. **_*If answering your questions assures me a peaceful nap, count me happy to oblige.*_**

She has almost made it on her slow, staggering feet to the hedgerow when Hades’ voice chimes once more at her back.

**_*Before you go---there is one more thing. One… minor thing.*_ **

The sadness underscoring his words gives her pause. She turns around. 

Hades is not lazing beneath the tree with his back propped against its trunk as she had left him. He too is standing. The giant's gait lists to one side beneath the heavy boughs, and he seems to be looking at something beyond her. 

**_*Who... is that standing next to you?*_ **

She blinks. A glance backwards and to her left shows Ardbert, watching but still keeping a discreet and carefully polite distance, waiting for her to finish her rest and catch up with him. “I... that’s...”

 **_*...Never mind. I suppose it hardly matters, does it? ‘Tis a soul, if a faint impression of one--and the same shade as your own.*_ ** That birdlike tilt of the chin. **_*The color of it… I would know it anywhere. And so, I imagine, would he.*_ **

Her gaze sharpens. The note of longing in the shade’s voice is unmistakable. 

**_*Well, don’t let me keep you.*_ **

His arms fold into the sleeves of his robe, and there is something soft there in the slackened bow of his lips, something that makes her breath catch. They curve upwards, in the faintest and most self-deprecating of smiles. It is the expression of a man that has any number of things to say, and no time to say them. 

In the end, he says nothing, and the moment passes. She turns away.

She is met with Ardbert’s stare of open confusion upon reaching the elaborate masonry of the park walkway. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, I--”

There is nothing and no one under the tree. It stands a lone sentinel in the center of its clearing just as before, quiet and undisturbed.

The Warrior of Darkness exhales.

“Just an old friend,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to meet like-minded people who love reading and/or writing stories about their adventures in hydaelyn, please feel free to join our book club! note: thirst for one (1) rat man optional. https://discord.gg/FB8hqkD


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